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Cas POV
I have lived for thousands of years. Thousands of millennia. An endless stretch of time that holds all my thoughts. All my memories. Yet in that almost unfathomable stretch of time, I have never once felt the way that I do right now.
Utterly terrified.
It took me approximately two days to finally come to the conclusion that I had, in fact, become human. The hunger pains in my stomach would've proved to be a clear sign after the first day, but at the time I thought them merely remnants from my previous injuries, perhaps acquired during my scuffle with Metatron. The memories of the fight come back slow and foggy, along with the rest of my memories from the time I have spent in Heaven. Already I feel that most of them have dulled, as if shadowed behind a thick curtain. I must focus especially hard to draw them out, and it frustrates me. Makes me feel as though I am losing my grip on who and what I am...was.
Those next few weeks after I had discovered what I had become were the worst of my existence. To be thrust into such an unforgiving world with nothing and no one to guide me proved almost impossible. The simplest things confounded me, made me want to just give up. But I never did.
I quickly learned that money would be my most valuable possession, and that, of course, I had none. So I had to learn to live without...to grovel. To steal. It pained me to do so, but survival was the only option. I had to survive, because I had to get back to Sam and Dean. I had to find a way to somehow restore order to the chaos that I had once again unleashed upon their world.
But then I began to think about exactly what that reunion would mean. And the more I thought about it, about seeing that unyielding disappointment, that betrayal in their eyes, the more I thought about giving in. It would be so much easier to simply cease to exist. To not feed or clothe or care for the now vulnerable human body that was my own. Sam and Dean would never forgive me for this latest and most colossal mistake, I knew that in my heart. So when I heard the unmistakable roar of the Impala behind me on that nameless street in South Dakota all those weeks later, I braced myself for the very worst. I braced myself for the condemnation that never came.
Instead, I found myself folded into the strong arms of the man who had been placed in my charge, the man I had come to care deeply for.
The man who had every right to smite me where I stood.
Instead, he provided me comfort. It was implausible. Impossible. But his gaze didn't falter and his voice didn't waver as he spoke, and I soon found myself seated beside him in the place where his brother usually resided, careening down the highway towards a home I had never had a hope of returning to.
And now I stand facing that same man, a dead angel at my feet and pure rage coursing through my veins, the angel blade practically pressed against his throat.
Dean is completely pressed against the wall behind him, and I have crowded the small space between us, staying locked like this for what seems a very long time. I'm finding it difficult to keep control of even the most basic of human instincts at the moment, heaving in short, violent gasps of air. I realize that this is a natural side effect to the anger that is currently consuming my mind. My emotions are now completely unhindered by my duty as an angel to remain objective, and the strength of them frightens me, makes me falter and accidentally slide the blade ever so slightly into the soft skin beneath Dean's throat. I watch as blood begins to pool around the small cut I've made. Dean's breath hitches.
"Cas, please..." he begs, just like he did all those months ago in the abandoned crypt when I had been under the influence of Naomi. But this time is different. He's not begging for his own life, he's begging for his brother's. I can practically feel the depth of his desperation, his need to get back to Sam, to save him using the blood of one of my sisters. But past the fear, past the desperation, another emotion makes itself known behind his eyes. I see resignation. Forgiveness. If I kill him in this moment, right where he stands, he won't hold it against me. He thinks he deserves it.
And maybe he does.
But if Dean Winchester deserves to die for killing an angel, then I too, should be obliterated. I deserve it a thousand times over. I deserve a never ending cycle of misery for the things I've done, the mess I've created, even if it has always been in the name of protecting the people I am meant to protect. And despite what I deserve, Dean has found it in his heart to forgive me, time and time again. To look past the mistakes I've made and still call me a friend, an ally. A brother.
Dean's squeezes his eyes shut as the blade shifts once more against his skin, but they fly open in surprise a moment later as it falls from my grasp and hits the cold floor with a resounding clatter.
"Let's go. Bring the girl," I say, keeping my eyes trained on the abandoned weapon, looking anywhere but at the fallen heap on the ground beside me. It pains me not to know the angel's name, but without my grace, that knowledge has been lost to me.
"Cas...?" Dean asks, disbelieving. He hasn't moved from his position on the wall, not even to wipe the blood that has dribbled down the collar of his shirt. I bring my gaze to his, letting the anger I still feel seep into my words.
"Dean. Now." Its a low, threatening command, and though he has no reason to fear me anymore, Dean immediately takes action, kneeling beside the body and gathering her small frame in his arms. His arms full, he flinches and stumbles back a few steps when I reach to pick up the discarded knife, flipping it easily in my hands. It is slightly comforting that although it seems that I have lost most everything else, I have not yet lost the ability to wield a weapon. Dean watches warily as I tuck the blade beneath my sweatshirt and begin walking to the door, not sparing a glance behind me. I know that if I look back at the man with the angel in his arms, I might not be able to stop myself from lashing out. I might not be able to restrain this unprecedented rage that is still roiling inside me, fighting to break free.
So I keep walking.
We're back on the endless stretch of road, heading for the bunker. The silence between us echoes throughout the interior of the Chevy Impala and seems to reverberate across the empty backseat. Dean's jaw is set. He won't look at me, hasn't once tried to catch my eye or so much as turned his head in my direction. Perhaps, like me, he doesn't know what to say. So the silence stretches on.
He finally breaks it, hours later.
"I'm sorry. I'm...Cas I'm so sorry," he chokes out, running a hand over his face. "You were gone and Sam was dying and this was the only way..." he pauses, finally turning to meet my gaze. "Look. I know nothing can make up for this, and I know you can't forgive me, but please...just please. It's Sammy. It's all for him..."
"I can't just let you go on killing my brothers and sisters Dean," I practically growl at him. "You understand I must stop you? You understand you cannot keep doing this? I may no longer be an angel, but I won't allow this to continue. One way or another, you will stop." The threat is evident in my voice, and Dean shies away from it, swallowing hard.
"Look Cas, I know they're...family, but most of them are out to kill you anyway. You do realize that? They blame you for falling and they want revenge. And you're running on empty. You've got no angel juice to take on a single demon, let alone an entire swarm of angels."
"That's my problem, Dean," I snap, and even as I respond, I know he's successfully rerouted our conversation.
I have known since the first week of being human that the angels want me dead. Moments after the completion of Metatron's spell, after I had somehow ended up on Earth, I had come across several angels that were severely injured from the fall. Even as I reached out, trying to assist them, they had lashed out at me, promising redemption. Looking back, I realize that if their injuries hadn't been so crippling, I'd probably be dead already. However, I also realize that their blame is entirely well placed. This is all my fault.
"Do not pretend that your murder spree was a way to ensure my protection. Do not attempt to justify your actions in my name," I spit at him, watching his face contort in pain.
"My actions can't be justified, Cas, I know that," he whispers a second later. I can practically see the guilt radiating off of him but his voice grows stronger as he speaks. "But that doesn't mean I would take them back. Sam's alive and that's enough for me. Fuck, I'll spend another thousand years in Hell to ensure he stays that way. I just want to make sure you know where your angel buddies stand. Just so you can decide which team you want to play for this round." The accusation behind his words seems to cut across my stomach, causing me to curl in on myself, battling the sudden ache. I'm surprised at the speed at which his tone changes to one of concern.
"Cas, what's wrong?" he asks, automatically reaching to grab my arm but stopping halfway and rethinking, retracting it quickly.
It takes me another moment to understand what's happening, and then the words come haltingly. "It's nothing I...I'm just...hungry," I grimace. I've come to identify the distinct pains of hunger and thirst in these past few weeks. Memorized them, actually. It's peculiar to be so dependent on anything, and it's still sometimes a challenge to remember how very human I am now. Sometimes I forget, and I know it's been a long time since I've eaten. To my surprise and utter chagrin, Dean laughs. Just one short huff of laughter, and then he quickly recovers himself, clearing his throat, back to business.
"Uh, alright, I'll stop off at the next gas station. Gotta fill the tank anyway. Just uh, just take it easy. We'll be there soon."
I nod, resting my head against the window, trying to block all thoughts from my mind. It proves a difficult task, but soon enough I catch sight of the sign promising fuel. Dean practically bounds from the car the moment it's in park, as if he can't stand the cramped space any longer, even though I know he's been on road trips for at least twice as long without rest. I watch, slightly fascinated, as he begins what I deem to be the overly complex process of getting gas. Dean's movements are practiced and steady, and I find myself envying his ability to survive so easily in this world, to always seem so sure of himself. I watch him stride towards the convenience market, not bothering to ask what I want to eat. I rest my head back against the seat and sigh deeply.
I strongly wish I hadn't been jostled awake in time for Dean to have to explain his supposed "hunt". I wish I had just stayed asleep. It would be nice to simply remain oblivious to the bleeding body in the trunk of the car. It would be so much easier to just pretend I didn't know the lengths Dean had gone to in order to save his brother. Though my anger is now contained, I will still hold true to my threat. Dean will not kill anymore angels as long as I am alive, no matter what grudge they may harbor against me.
The click of the gas nozzle startles me from my musings, and I turn to glance back at the convenience store, expecting Dean's return. Five minutes pass and I'm still waiting. Another five and I've become restless. And suddenly, I know something is very wrong. I grasp clumsily for the door handle, lumbering from the car in a tangle of uncoordinated limbs. I'm about to run towards the store when I remember one of the lessons the Winchesters had taught me in my brief stretch as a fellow hunter: "Never go anywhere without a weapon."
Luckily, Dean had left the keys in the ignition. I grab them, and quickly make my way to the trunk, fumbling with the lock. It pops open a moment later, and if I had anything in my stomach at the moment, it would've made an appearance. I had forgotten about the dead angel. Swallowing against the urge to be sick, I search for the weapons bag, remembering to grab a few random items from the second compartment hidden underneath. I then begin running for the convenience store, attempting to prepare myself for whatever could be happening inside.
But there is no way to prepare for this...
Sorry for the cliffhanger! This was a hard chapter for me- still not sure I completely captured Cas's voice as this was my first time writing him. I'd love to hear your opinions/reviews. I'm thinking of switching back to Dean's POV for the next part, but if you want more Cas let me know. More craziness to come!